Fight On
by seahorses
Summary: It's the end of College, and things seem as unstable as they did at the end of High School, but now with a lot more pressure. Part of my TrainsVerse.


"Let me up, bitch! Your buzzer is still broken!" Quinn says into her phone, tapping her heel outside of Brittany and Santana's apartment, annoyed, as usual.

"Hold on," Santana huffs into the phone, hanging up the minute she finished speaking.

"Quinn?" Brittany asks Santana, holding a dress up to herself and looking in a mirror. Santana nods at her.

"That looks great, baby," Santana says, "you should definitely bring that."

"Thanks," Brittany says, grinning and twirling around to see the other side of her dress as Santana grabs her keys and runs down to let Quinn in.

"It took you long enough," Quinn says, taking one last drag on her cigarette before stamping it out beneath her flat boots.

"Where is Justin?" Santana asks, letting Quinn into the building and following her up the stairs.

"Football, football, blah blah preseason or some shit. I don't even care. I'm just excited to get our almost-back-to-school trip to Vegas."

"Glad to know you're not letting that douchebag get you down," Santana says as she opens the door to her and Brittany's apartment. She adjusts the welcome mat with her foot before she shuts the door.

"Don't call him that, Santana. Besides, I know you kind of like him."

"Whatever. I'm just excited to get to Vegas."

"You and me both," Quinn says, throwing her small duffel bag on the couch in the apartment. "B! You ready to go?"

"Almost," Brittany says, peaking her head out of the bedroom. "You don't need to yell, Quinn. This apartment isn't that big." Quinn doesn't respond, merely continues filing her nails in the kitchen. "Also, where's Justin?"

"I don't know," Quinn says. "Some football thing. You know. He has a real job now, no time for us college students since he's graduated." Santana scoffs.

"Being a football player is _so_ not a real job." Santana says.

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure he's rich now, or something, and just afraid to tell me. I've been dating him for three years! Does he think that now I'm suddenly going to start dating him for his money?" Santana laughs.

"Like, how rich do you think?" She asks, her face turning completely serious. Quinn punches her in the arm.

"Ready!" Brittany sings.

"Vegas, here we come!" Santana says, opening the door for the other two women and heading out.

* * *

It's pretty quiet on the drive. They make small talk about the upcoming school year until they get past Claremont and then Santana and Brittany play an endless game of "I Spy" before Brittany grows tired.

Somewhere around Bakersfield, Santana's phone rings.

"Hey, mama," Santana says absentmindedly, her fingers running up and down Brittany's thigh in the passenger's seat.

"You shouldn't talk and drive," Brittany says, "it's as dangerous as drinking and driving," Brittany says, grasping Santana's hand in hers. Santana rolls her eyes.

"You know your girlfriend is right, Santana," Maria says over the phone. Brittany smirks and Santana rolls her eyes again. "Plus, how are you talking on the phone _and_ holding Brittany's hand?"

"Bluetooth, mama. Plus, this is like straight stretch of desert highway. I don't need to think." Maria is silent and it takes Santana a moment to realize that her mother is making fun of her for always holding Brittany's hand in the car.

"Did you call me for a reason, mom, or just to tease me?" Santana asks.

"Santana, please just call me when you get to the hotel, okay?"

"Okay, mama. Although, don't be mad if we don't talk to you after that. No offense, it's just, I'm spending the weekend with my girls in Vegas."

"I understand, Santana. Just try to keep in touch, okay? You know these Vegas trips you three make always get me nervous."

"I know, mama. I'll call you in a couple of hours, okay?"

"Don't forget, Santanita!" Her mother says. Santana clicks the phone off.

"Yay! Back to I Spy!" Brittany says, grinning at Santana. Quinn groans and sinks further down in her seat as they continue their asinine game. She considers pointing out that they have been driving through the desert for four hours, but she knows it's useless with those two.

* * *

They're staying at TI this year because this is the hotel Hotwire hooked them up with. It's a little bittersweet—usually their back to school trip has a few more people, but Sasha graduated last year and Tamara is studying abroad in South Africa this semester, and Justin, of course, is off playing football for real now. The hotel is amazing—pools, nightclubs, and right in the center of the strip, but it feels a little lackluster now that it's just the McKinley girls there.

Once they get their things settled in the hotel, Santana makes straight for the pool. Well the bar, then the pool. Brittany and Quinn go for the blackjack table; Britt's sure she's got this counting cards thing down pat, and Santana doesn't want to ruin her optimism. She also doesn't want to be there to see her lose all her money. She takes a sip from her Bloody Mary, always her initiation into Vegas drink.

"Hola, mama!" Santana says sweetly into the phone.

"Santana Lopez, you've obviously been in Vegas for long enough to start drinking, how about calling your mother?"

"Sorry, mama. I'm not drinking yet, though."

"Sweetheart, how old do you have to be to get it through that thick skull of yours that you can't lie to me. You sound relaxed, not angry, and you're not crying yet, so I'm guessing that you're halfway through a vodka-based drink right now?"

"Whatever, Mom, why have you been calling so obsessively?"

"I just wanted to hear my daughter's voice."

"Okay, now you're just being weird." Santana looks up to see Quinn pulling up a chair next to her. "Listen, mama, Quinn just got here, I've gotta go."

"Okay, tell the girls hello for me!"

"I will, Mama."

"And don't drink too much! Or do any illegal drugs!"

"Okay, okay, Mama, I've got to go!" Santana says again.

"Bye, honey," Maria says, as Santana hangs up the phone.

"Where the fuck is Britt?" Santana asks, turning to Quinn.

"Was that your Mom?" Quinn asks.

"Yeah. She says hi. She's being totally fucking weird. You didn't answer my question."

"Playing Blackjack, obviously," Quinn says, looking at Santana, confused.

"You just left her alone like that? You can't just leave her alone!"

"Woah, calm down, Santana, she's a big girl, she'll be okay."

"Fuck you, Fabray. That's not what I meant, and you know it. I don't trust all the other drunk douchebags in this town. My girl is hot."

"So are you, and she let you come up here on your own to prance around in that tiny bathing suit. Although I guess she knows that a drop of alcohol on your tongue and you'll start crying at the thought of cheating."

"Fuck you, Fabray. I would never even think about cheat on her," Santana says, softly now.

"You're about to start crying, aren't you?"

"No," Santana defends. "Whatever. Let's change the subject."

"Are you guys going to do anything for your anniversary? It's coming up, right?"

"Yeah, a couple of weeks. I don't know. This semester is going to be pretty busy for me, and I'm supposed to be studying for the LSAT and working on Law School applications, plus with cheerleading and Glee Club and GSA and the Debate Team…I just don't know that I'll have time."

"It's going to be four years, right?" Santana just nods. "I can't believe that," Quinn says.

"Well, you and Justin have been together for three," Santana points out.

"Yeah, and it's the longest relationship I've ever been in. I love him, you know, but sometimes I wonder if it's only worked out this long because he's always busy with football so I don't actually have to see him that much. It's just that three years seems so long."

"This is the only relationship I've ever really been in. I don't think Puck and Sam count."

"Definitely not," Quinn laughs. They sit in silence, both thinking about their relationships and soaking in the sun. "By the way, what's going on with your mom?"

"I don't know," Santana says, not opening her eyes or turning to look at Quinn. "She's just called me like 16 times in the last three days for no reason. It's weird."

"That is weird," Quinn says. "You still call her 'Mama'," Quinn says, absentmindedly.

"Fuck you, Fabray."

* * *

After three drinks, Quinn and Santana pass out in the sun, not caring if the Las Vegas weather burns them to a crisp.

"I won! I won!" Brittany exclaims, throwing herself into Santana's lap. Santana's eyes creep open, but she can't help but smile when she sees Brittany's excited face. Santana readjusts the floppy hat on Brittany's head.

"Awesome, B," Santana says, still fighting off sleep.

"You're burning, San," Brittany says, pressing a fingertip in Santana's slightly pink skin. "And if you're burning that means Quinn has already burnt the whole hotel down," she gestures to Quinn. She taps her shoulder. "Wake up, Q!" Quinn rolls over, wincing when her burnt back touches the plastic of the pool chair.

"I'm burnt," Quinn says, gently touching her back. "It's that damn pyramid, reflecting all the sun on us," she says, pointing to the giant black pyramid looming over them.

"I think it's just that both of you refuse to wear sunscreen." Brittany says, tapping Santana's nose. "Now, I'm going to take us out to dinner, and then I think we should go out. Tao maybe, or take a cab to Ghostbar?"

"That sounds good, B." Santana and Quinn gather their stuff and Brittany and Santana interlace their fingers as they head to the elevator. Quinn leans her back against the cool metal, and Santana yawns as she places a kiss on Brittany's shoulder. "I forget to ask, B, how much did you win?" Brittany pulls out a winning voucher from her pocket and reads it out loud.

"$1,367," Brittany exclaims. Quinn's mouth drops open and Santana raises her eyebrows. She's not sure if she's supposed to take her girlfriend seriously or not. The door opens and Brittany leaves the elevator, turning when she realizes the other two aren't following her. "C'mon, guys, she says. We have to get to dinner." Brittany puts her arm around Santana as they walk down the hall toward the room.

"You never cease to surprise me, Britt," Santana says.

"That's the plan!" Brittany says.

* * *

It takes them a solid two hours to get ready. Santana doesn't understand how this always happens. It takes them less then 30 minutes, combined, to finish showering. Quinn credits this to Sue training them well in High School. It's what happens after the shower is done. Every article of clothing, every single accessory, piece of jewelry, must be approved by everyone else, and somehow two hours pass before they even make it to dinner, and another two before they make it into the club.

Santana kind of hates Vegas clubs and kind of loves them, all at the same time. There's something appealing about automatic entrance, no cover charge accepted, that boosts her self-esteem. It's always followed quickly by the dread of the reality that they let hot girls in for free because there are a bunch of douchebag guys who want to grope them as they get their dance on.

Santana just wants to get her dance on, free of groping, thank you very much.

It's less than an hour before they lose Quinn.

Santana drags Brittany around the club, with Brittany dance-walking behind her.

"I want to dance on the stage!" Brittany yells over the thump of the music to Santana.

"We can't, B! We have to find Quinn!"

"But if we're on top of the stage, we're more likely to find her!" Santana stops and thinks for a moment. She did have a point. From on top of the stage, they'd be more likely to see across the whole club. She looks up at Brittany, who has already known that she has won this argument. She is already on the stage and reaches her hands down to pull Santana up. Brittany isn't really looking for Quinn, just dancing up a storm, completely unaware of the leering men staring at her. Santana looks over the club; she doesn't see Quinn anywhere.

"B, come with me to the bathroom, I bet that's where she is," Santana yells into Brittany's ear.

"I want to stay and dance!" Brittany says.

"I can't just leave you here, B, with all these creeps staring at you."

"You're silly," Brittany says, kissing Santana on the cheek. "I'll be fine. I won't move. If Q's not in the bathroom, I'll come help you look for her."

"Fine," Santana says, hopping off the stage. She wants to kiss Brittany goodbye, but decides that this is probably not the place to do it—not because she's not 100% out. She's, like, 150% out these days. She's just pretty sure that two hot girls kissing on a stage in Vegas is going to result in a reaction more positive than she wants to deal with right now.

Santana fights her way to the bathroom. There's a line winding around the corner, but thankfully, she finds Quinn up front.

"Q! We've been looking for you for ever!"

"Did you see this line, Santana?" A toilet flushes and Quinn heads toward it, with Santana close behind. "You're not coming in with me, Santana." Quinn says.

"Oh, please. We were roommates. And on the same cheerleading squad. You can't tell me that _now _you're worried about me getting a glimpse of the goods, Fabray?"

"Gross, Santana. I just don't want you to come in!"

"Well, I have to pee, and hell no am I waiting in that line, bitch, so let me by." Quinn rolls her eyes but allows Santana to enter the stall with her.

"Are you going to pee or what?" Quinn asks as they both just stand awkwardly in the stall.

"I was waiting for you," Santana says, gesturing at her. "You know, cause you've been waiting in line all this time."

"Just go pee, Santana." Santana doesn't move, she simply raises her eyebrows at Quinn, waiting for her to explain. "Ugh, you're so frustrating, like, all of the time."

"What the fuck were you going to do in here if you weren't going to pee, Q?"

"I was trying to keep it on the DL," Quinn says, reaching into her clutch and revealing a small bag of white powder. "Because I know how Brittany feels about it, but I felt like, what would Vegas be without some blow, right?" Santana doesn't know how to respond, so lifts her dress and sits down on the toilet as Quinn uses her keys to scoop up a small amount of the cocaine and she snorts it up her nose. As Santana is lowering her dress, Quinn does it again.

"You want some?" Quinn asks. Santana pauses. Of course she wants some. She hasn't done cocaine in a long time, though, and she knows that Brittany doesn't like it when she's high. They _are _in Vegas, though, so it feels like some sort of exception should be given. She shrugs to Quinn in response.

"Just a little bump," Santana says, quietly. Quinn scoops a little more onto her key and holds it out to Santana, positioning herself right below Santana's nose. Immediately Santana's eyes dilate ad her posture changes.

"Damn, it's been a long time," Santana says, grinning at Quinn.

"Feel good?" Quinn asks. Santana nods. "You want another bump before we go out there?" Santana nods again.

Because that's the thing about cocaine. The minute she has it, all she wants is a little bit more.

She doesn't remember most of the rest of the night.

It's nearing six and the sun is beginning to slide up on the horizon. They're walking down the strip, exhausted, stumbling, drunk. Santana is holding Brittany's shoes and Quinn is meandering in an aimless trajectory down the middle of the sidewalk.

"You guys were doing blow tonight, weren't you?" Brittany asks after Quinn sneezes for the tenth time in five minutes.

"No," Santana says.

"Santana, don't lie to me. You came back from the bathroom way too energetic, and you've been doing that weird, gross, teeth-grinding thing."

"Sorry, Britt. I just went to find her, and she was doing it and…yeah."

"I understand." Brittany says softly, her words slightly slurred from all the alcohol she's had. "Just don't lie to me about it, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry." Santana squeezes Brittany's hand tightly

"And only in Vegas, okay honey?" Santana just nods. They watch Quinn prancing up ahead of them.

"I wonder if Quinn's going to sleep tonight?" Santana asks. "She's been railing lines like a madwoman."

"A snow woman," Brittany says, chuckling to herself. "She'd better sleep, because I'm exhausted. I just want to be curled up in bed with you."

"Me too, baby," Santana says. They walk, hand-in-hand, silently for a few more moments. "I'm sorry about the blow, B." Brittany shrugs.

"I understand. We're in Vegs, shit happens."

"I just wanted to let loose a little, you know?"

"I know, honey," Brittany says. She kisses the back of Santana's hand and they continue their way back to the hotel in silence.

* * *

"Shit," Santana says, rolling over in the hotel bed to find the box of tissues on the nightstand. She blows her nose and throws the tissue into the wastebasket.

"Good morning to you too, San," Brittany says, yawning and stretching her arms over her head. Santana turns, slowly blinking her eyes to try and bring them into focus.

"I feel terrible." Santana croaks.

"That's what you get for doing drugs last night."

"I know, baby," she says, curling herself up as small as possible and nuzzling into Brittany's side. "I said I was sorry, now I just feel sad and empty and I need you to make me feel better," Santana pouts.

"It's not my fault you let all the happy fish swim around your brain last night and now you have no more left," Brittany says, pecking Santana on the lips. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Baby," Santana whines.

"No. You made your bed, now you sleep in it, bitch," she says, in a mock ghetto voice as she hops out of bed. "Hey, San, where's Q?"

"I don't know," Santana groans into her pillow. "I can't remember getting back here last night."

"I'm going to take a shower. Call her, will you?"

* * *

Santana is pacing around the hotel room when Brittany gets out of the shower.

"Couldn't get in touch with Quinn?"

"No," Santana says, "and I did the usual someone is lost in Vegas routine, and she's not anywhere."

"Honey, come sit down," Brittany says. Santana glares at her. "Look, if she's not at the police station and she's not in a hospital, she's probably just high, gambling her money away."

Three hours later, Quinn still has not turned up. Santana is on her second Bloody Mary and Brittany is practicing playing Blackjack with herself. Suddenly the door to the room opens.

"You guys will _not_ believe the night I had." Quinn says, smiling, her hair in a pile on top of her head, missing her shoes.

"You know what, Quinn, I really don't want to hear it," Santana says, waving her manicured hand in front of her face.

"Woah, what crawled up her ass?" Quinn asks Brittany.

"We were really worried about you, Quinn," Brittany says softly. "You weren't answering your phone, you were really drunk and high last night…"

"You told her?" Quinn looks at Santana accusingly.

"She figured it out, Q," Santana says, defensive. "We weren't all that subtle. Besides, that is _so_ not the point right now."

"You two need to chill the fuck out. We're in Vegas! This is what happens in Vegas. Calm down."

"I'm not going to chill the fuck out, Quinn!" Santana yells. "You were gone, fucked up beyond belief, without a phone,

"So, I went back down to the casino, and I met this really cute guy, so we started hanging out and then I went with him back to the Bellagio."

"You went with a random guy to his hotel room?"

"Well, he's staying at the Bellagio. I felt like it can't be that sketchy. Anyway, we're making out on his bed, when his friend walks in with a prostitute." Santana arches her eyebrows. "We go into the bathroom, because, hello, dude is paying for it, and we make out until I need to pass out. I fall asleep in the bathtub, and when I wake up, my wallet and my cell phone are gone."

"Are the guys still there?"

"Yeah! That prostitute stole my shit! I've never been more proud."

"Only you, Q, would be proud of a prostitute stealing your shit." Santana tries to hide the small smile on the corner of her lips.

"Whatever. I'm ready for bed."

"It's, like, three in the afternoon."

"So? You guys were going to go be lame 60-year-old women and see that Cirque Du Soleil show, so I'm going to sleep until after you've 'lightly' gambled, seen your show, and gone out to whatever romantic dinner this debaucherous town has to offer. When you come back here, tipsy off two glasses of wine, we'll go out."

"Where are we going out tonight, Q?"

"I don't know, they're kind of all the same. Ghostbar, Tao, Jet, LAX, we'll figure something out." The words are barely out of Quinn's mouth before she's passed out in her bed.

"She thinks we're lame?" Santana asks.

"Let's just go out, baby," Brittany says.

* * *

"We're not lame, San," Brittany says as they walk down the strip with their fingers linked together. Brittany knows a place at the end by Safari that has penny margaritas.

"I never said we were lame, baby."

"I can feel you thinking it, though. We're not lame. We're normal. Q is crazy."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

They eat dinner at the Pink Taco and Brittany adds to her growing collection of Pink Taco merchandise. This time it's a pink, glitter encrusted shot glass that says "The Pink Taco" on one side, and "Eating Out Never Tasted So Good", on the other.

Santana triple checks her phone before sitting down at the Cirque du Soleil show to make sure that she has it turned on to silent.

"Thanks for doing this with me, San," Brittany whispers into Santana's ear after Santana puts her phone in her purse. Santana just smiles and kisses Brittany on her cheek.

She secretly thinks that this kind of letting loose is way better than the kind she did last night, but she's not sure if she's ready to admit that. She's still in college, after all.

* * *

The drive back the next day is quiet. They listen to Brittany's iPod and Quinn clutches a box of tissues. As usual for this trip, she partied hard enough to get herself sick right before the beginning of school. They park their car behind Santana and Brittany's building, and the two of them walk Quinn to her car, parked out front.

"Senior year," Quinn says, half-smiling at Santana.

"We're gonna kill it," Santana says.

"Thanks for a good vacation, guys," she says, hugging them both.

Santana lies down on the couch the moment their in the apartment and pulls out her schedule for tomorrow.

"San?" Brittany calls from the kitchen.

"Yeah, babe?"

"You think Quinn is going to be okay?"

Santana is silent for a second, thinking, before she sits upright on their couch.

"She always is."


End file.
